Freak
by Somewhat Sporadic
Summary: Sherlock Holmes had been labelled a freak so many times over the years that he had simply come to expect it. It almost amused him to some extent, how imbecilic some people were. What didn't amuse him however was when other people fell victim to such imbecility. Specifically, when people were rude to John Watson. (T to be safe.)


**A/N: Hello there! This is my first story in a substantial amount of time, so please bear with me! I realise I may be a little rusty. **

**So, after finding myself bored a short while ago, I decided to skip through various channels on TV and found 'A Study in Pink' was showing. As I continued to watch I found myself becoming more and more engrossed; I had heard of Sherlock many times but never got around to actually watching it. **

**By the end of the episode I found myself so in love with everything about the show that I proceeded to purchase all three series on Amazon before the credits had even started to roll. The rest, as they say, is history. **

**Thus I decided to express my infatuation by writing a short story. Expect more if this gets a good response! Many thanks!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><span><strong>Freak<strong>

Sherlock Holmes had been labelled a freak so many times over the years that he had simply come to expect it. It had hurt at first, though he would never let it show. He would merely take it all in his stride, block it out. Because that was what Sherlock Holmes did; ignore sentiment, silence the emotions and never let that cold mask of indifference slip. It had become second nature to ignore the insults. Squash them down and throw them over his shoulder without another thought like balls of paper into a bin.

Usually he could erase all unnecessary information from his mind to make room for the vital things, but those persistent paper shreds refused to move an inch. They had built up, filling a corner within the deepest, darkest confines of his mind palace. Where once there had been a few insignificant specks there now sat an unsightly mound and no matter how much he tried to sweep them away, they would just mysteriously reappear with his next visit. They were constant reminders of past snide remarks. The scars he fought so hard to conceal. He was only human after all, though he was loathe to accept it.

Sherlock could handle it. He was perfectly capable of dealing with childish insults from inferior minds. Couldn't they be a tad more imaginative? It was funny to some extent how people felt it made them superior somehow. All it did was further emphasise their insignificance and idiocy, if that was even possible. It amused him.

What _didn't _amuse him however was when other people fell victim to such imbecility. Specifically, when people were rude to John Watson.

They had just arrived at the latest crime scene, Sherlock donning his usual wool coat and scarf, John keeping apace with him clad in his favourite wool jumper. It was a cold January evening with snow threatening to blanket London. It was nights like this that John wished he could stay inside 221B and curl up in front of the fire with a nice cup of tea and a rerun of Connie Prince. It had been a relatively peaceful night, as nights in with Sherlock go. He had entertained himself with a novel which left them sitting in companionable silence. John had inwardly groaned when Lestrade entered the room, intruding on their rare bubble of calm.

Couldn't they just sit down for five minutes?

Now here they were an hour later in an icy, derelict building on the outskirts of London, staring down at a particularly emaciated corpse whilst an incompetent swarm of Yard officers loitered outside. A sigh escaped John's lips. Sherlock bent down to the victim's face, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. His grey-blue eyes scanned the body, taking in each minute detail.

"Anything Sherlock?" Lestrade piped up after several moments of silence. "Running out of time here."

"Bruising," he said as he pointed to the neck. "Here."

"And here, on the wrists. And the ankles" added John, bringing their attention to the marks. "She was restrained?"

"It would appear so. Possibly asphyxiation." said Sherlock.

It was then that Sergeant Donovan decided to show her face. "Oh, look. Freak's here." she sneered."You sure you aren't responsible this time?" Sherlock gritted his teeth.

John noticed his minuscule reaction and silenced her with a deadly glare. Feeling that he had gotten his message across, he returned to the body and frowned. "Look, there are lots of individual bruises. Fingerprints." Sherlock nodded. "But the bruises on either wrist are different sizes. Different fingerprints, different hands. There was more than one assailant." He felt three pairs of eyes land on him. John swallowed and continued.

"There must have been two – no, three attackers, at the least." he pointed to her face where there were yet more marks. He continued to speak slowly, examining the body methodically like the doctor he was. He saw something dark through the woman's slightly parted lips. "So... two of them, presumably male going by the size of the bruises, held down her arms and legs, one either side. Then a third person –" He pulled his latex glove more firmly onto his hand and opened the woman's mouth. He looked inside and pulled out a small metal disk. " – put this in her mouth." He examined the disk closely. "Then, the same attacker suffocated her. Clamped her mouth and nose shut. Asphyxiation. The third person was female. Look at the fingerprints on the face, they're smaller and there are scratch marks. Long fingernails. Forced her mouth open to put whatever the hell this is inside. Also, there are small paint chips on the front teeth. She tried to bite her attacker's hand. The fingernails must've been painted. Ergo, two men and a woman."

He looked up and saw everyone staring at him. He blinked. "Umm, _presumably _two men and a woman." he backtracked casting his eyes down to the floor.

"No, _definitely_ two men and a woman." stated Sherlock, his eyes still locked on John, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looked... _proud._

"Well." broke in a voice from the doorway. "Looks like we have two freaks now. You been taking lessons?" Sherlock's smile vanished in an instant and was replaced by a hard stare which he directed straight at Donovan. She physically stepped back, her own smile vaporising. Sherlock was about to rise to his feet when he felt a light hand on his shoulder.

"Don't." whispered John, barely audible. He looked at Donovan and gave her a tight smile. He heard Sherlock let out a jagged sigh after which the detective set about completing the puzzle of the dead woman in record time. He was like a hurricane, moving swiftly about the body and rattling off deductions at a pace that was almost difficult to follow. All the while John watched on, absent-mindedly smiling in astonishment.

Before he had time to blink, Sherlock had finished his examination and was dragging him out of the building, shouting over his shoulder to Lestrade that they would see him tomorrow. He ignored the shouts of protest.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. What's the hurry Sherlock?" asked John, confused. He was concerned by the thunderous look still present in Sherlock's eyes. He continued to be steered down the street and away from the blur of blue lights.

"Had to get out of there."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"I had an overwhelming desire to say something unsavoury to Sergeant Donovan. Wouldn't be the first time but it felt... different."

"Why? Are you OK?"

"She called you a Freak, John!" Sherlock cried.

"I noticed. Why are you so worked up about this? I've been called worse than that before. I can't say I'm pleased with how she says it to you either but what can you do?"

Sherlock looked like he was about to answer but apparently decided against it. With a shake of the head, his normal demeanour was back. With one last sideways glance, John decided to drop the subject for now. He knew better than to pry when Sherlock had closed up.

There was a beat of silence.

"That was extraordinary." said Sherlock suddenly.

"Huh? What was?" John looked puzzled.

"You. Back there. Extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary."

John chuckled. "That's not what people usually say."

A knowing smile appeared on the detective's face. "What do people usually say?"

"Who are you again?"

They chuckled together. "People really still ask you that?"

"I'm not the one with the website, Sherlock."

"You write the blogs."

"Which you hate."

"Hate is a strong word. I'd be lost without my blogger."

The dark street hid John's slight blush. They stopped at the end of the road and stood beneath a lamppost.

Sherlock snuck a glance at John and grinned at his shy smile." So. Back to Baker Street?"

John's eyes brightened. "God yes, I need a cuppa." Sherlock hummed in agreement before hailing a taxi.

* * *

><p>Later that week, there was another case demanding their attention.<p>

"We can't figure this one out." explained Lestrade dejectedly. He stood in the doorway to 221B whilst John and Sherlock sat in their respective armchairs.

"There's a surprise." mumbled Sherlock with his hands steepled beneath his chin. John suppressed a chuckle.

"It's stumped us all."

"The usual then?"

Lestrade glared at him. Sherlock stared back. A moment passed then Lestrade sighed. "Look, will you just help?"

In reply Sherlock leapt to his feet and pulled on his coat followed by his trademark blue scarf. John followed suit. "Right behind you."

They walked side by side down the alleyway towards the blue lights and the body. In the distance, they saw Sergeant Donovan by the crime scene tape watching them approach. John felt Sherlock bristle beside him and glanced up at his face. In the glow of the street lamps he could see him glowering with suppressed anger.

"Hey. Calm down. She's not worth the bother."

Sherlock grumbled in reply.

"Just don't reciprocate. Don't work yourself up." Even though there was no verbal reply, John saw his shoulders relax slightly.

"Evening." said Donovan as they reached the tape. She lifted it up for them.

"Evening." replied John politely. Sherlock remained silent as they walked straight past her.

They heard her activate her walkie-talkie behind them. "Yeah, they're here. Freak one and two. Letting them in now."

Sherlock stopped abruptly and removed his hands from his pockets. John stopped too and looked at him apprehensively. "Sherlock, just leave it. Come on."

But the detective didn't seem to hear him. Jaw clenched and eyes dark, he turned slowly, ominously on his heel to face her.

"Sherlock..." John was genuinely concerned now; he'd seen Sherlock angry before and it wasn't pretty.

He stalked up to her, stopping a mere foot in front of the woman that seemed to shrink back in fear. He sniggered to himself. _Good_.

"What? What are you doing?" she stammered.

In a level voice, he addressed her."Sergeant Donovan. If you think for one second that your petty little comments are going to hurt me, you are sorely mistaken. Throw about all the childish insults you want. Call me a freak, belittle me as much as you see fit. Your opinion of myself is utterly meaningless. However, if you do not refrain from making obnoxious comments to anyone _other_ than myself then you can expect to find yourself a Sergeant no more. That is a promise. Do I make myself clear?"

She stared back at him, dumbstruck.

"Do I make myself clear?" he bellowed.

Several heads snapped in their direction as she shuffled backwards. His piercing, fiery eyes did not leave her face. "What makes you think you have any say in my career?"

"Do not underestimate me. I have my ways, as I'm sure you are aware by now." Then Sherlock felt a presence by his side.

"While you're at it, you can leave him alone too." John stood next to Sherlock, squaring his shoulders intimidatingly. Sherlock felt an overwhelming wave of emotion. Sally shivered. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly. For once, she was unable to speak. Eventually she turned and scurried off with an indignant sniff.

Both men's shoulders sagged as the tension and anger subsided. "Well. That went strangely well." declared John.

"She certainly got the message." agreed the detective. They both watched her go, satisfied.

"Someone had to tell her. That's just out of order. How has she – are you OK?" He found Sherlock staring at him. "What?"

"Thank you." Sherlock said sincerely.

John blinked. "It's OK. You did it for me. Returning the favour, you know how it is."

"I'm serious. That was... that was good." He sniffed. "What you did, that was... very good."

"'S'alright." Sherlock looked uncharacteristically distracted. "Seriously, are you alright?"

A nod. Another sniff. A grin. "I'm pleased."

This was so unlike him! John laughed in disbelief. "Come on you sap, you've got a crime to solve."

Sherlock's grin widened as they made their way to the body. "No, _we _have a crime to solve John."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It's not like have anything against Sally Donovan. Not at all. Nuh-uh. No way. **

**Kind of a random concept here, but yeah. :) ****So, I'm not sure about the dialogue towards the end. I tried to make it as in-character as I could but I just couldn't get it to where I wanted. I'll let you decide, so any comments would be deeply and forever appreciated! **

**Much love! x**


End file.
